


Dibellas Feast / Maras Morning

by Dexidoodle



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M, I Don't Give Warnings, good luck, shit happens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:33:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24759379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dexidoodle/pseuds/Dexidoodle
Summary: Celebrating the Divines can be a perilous business...
Relationships: Balgruuf the Greater/Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn
Comments: 2
Kudos: 43





	Dibellas Feast / Maras Morning

**Author's Note:**

> I've not written anything for a while. This came from nowhere and is really just a vehicle to kickstart my muse again.
> 
> The rules of the Skyrim Holidays are left intentionally vague...

**Part 1: Dibellas Feast**

He glared down at the ‘costume’ laid out carefully on his bed and then looked up sharply to cast his baleful and icy glower at his housecarl, standing opposite him, across the expanse of his mattress.

“Absolutely not!” He growled darkly, his lips thinning to a pale line.

Irileth huffed, rolled her dark ruby eyes in impatience and glanced at Proventus for back-up. This would only work if the household presented a united front and Proventus Avenicci was an acknowledged coward.

Hrongar leaned against the bedroom wall, guffawing softly at his brothers discontent… unhelpful, as younger brothers tended to be.

Proventus, surprisingly, took up the cause.

“My Jarl,” He began haltingly, “it has been some time since you’ve participated in _any_ of The Eights celebrations.” His tone was entreating. “Sneaking off to the Bannered Mare for a pint does not constitute a public engagement.”

“It most certainly does not.” Irileth inserted sternly, fixing her Jarl with a hard stare. “This way, you with have both a formal, authoritative presence and some level of anonymity.” 

Balgruuf the Greater snorted in a fashion unsuited to a Jarl.

“Irileth, Do you know what, _exactly_ , the Feast of Dibella entails?”

Hrongars guffawing became noticeably louder, Proventus’ dark skin became darker still with his blush and Irileth sniffed indignantly, apparently unmoved.

“Of course I do.” She replied with tight dignity. “and the Divines know, you could use the full treatment.”

Balgruuf looked scandalised as his younger brother doubled over with outright laughter.

“You expect me to prance about the city in this outfit…” He spat derisively, gesturing violently at the innocent costume, “and ravish some unsuspecting lass?”

“One would assume, My Jarl, that the ravishment would be both consensual and reciprocated.” She replied patiently.

He snorted again and glared at his brother who was clasping his sides and wheezing.

“I refuse!”

Irileth crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her foot in irritation.

Balgruuf stormed around the bed and grabbed hold of his housecarls shoulder roughly, dipping his head low, to growl into her ear.

“Do you not recall the last time? When a babe was left at the doors of the Keep?” He hissed at her through gritted teeth.

“And do you love Nelkir less?” Irileth snapped back harshly. “Do you regret your son?”

Balgruuf reared back as if struck. 

“You have been with no one since. Not even the tavern girls, so Hulda tells me.” Irileth placated softly, soothing after her harsh words. “It is time, My Jarl.”

“Aye, it’s time, brother.” Hrongar rumbled from his position against the wall. He had gathered himself now, sensing the seriousness of the situation. “You can not wallow alone forever within these walls. Even if nothing intimate occurs this night, at least you were out there amongst it…”

Proventus nodded solemnly but added nothing.

Balgruuf the Greater glared down at the costume that had been laid out for him, his mind dashing from the image of his late wife, a hard cold woman who loved only the influence that his position afforded her. To his late lover, Nelkirs mother, a soft awkward woman with whom he’d spent but one night, to find her gone in the morning, as was expected during Dibellas Feast.

... Until, months later, when a basket containing his newborn son was found with a note explaining that the woman, whose name he discovered was Brigitta, had died in childbirth and admitted the childs parentage only as she had breathed her last.

He'd had his fair share of tumbles, with tavern wenches and the like but the shock of a son and the death of a consort... He was unwilling to put another woman through that, unwilling to put himself through that.

The costume they'd laid out was a pile of tawny tan fur and the mask was a mass of gold and dark chestnut hair. 

“What is it meant to be?” He grunted absently, pointing at the pile of fur. “Did you skin a khajit?”

Irileths lip twitched. “It’s a Lion, My Jarl, from Hammerfell.”

He remained silent for a long time, his eyes tracing the smooth fur and his mind churning with thoughts and memories.

He looked back up at Irileth and grimaced. “I’ll go.” He stated shortly. “I shall publicly open the feast, mingle with my citizens for a spell and then retire. I _won’t_ be celebrating.”

“As you say, My Jarl.” Irileth bowed to hide the smirk upon her lips. A small victory had been won this day. 

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

He stomped gracelessly down the stairway from Dragonsreach, his entourage fanning out behind him. His costume was pleasing enough, the fur blending almost seamlessly with his colouring and own hair. He swung his mask negligently from his hand for now. What point was there to officially opening the feast if no one knew whom he was?

All were decked out in their costumes; Proventus had chosen a horse-like ensemble, Irileth was resplendent as a peacock, Hrongar was a shaggy mammoth (or a close approximation of one). Farengar was an elk, though it looked like the weight of his antlers could crush him to his knees at any moment, no doubt, magicka had been employed to keep him upright. Dragonsreach was all but empty save for the skeleton crew of guards and servants... and of course, the children. This was one festival that they were definitely _not_ allowed to attend, though Dagny had pouted and bawled for a record amount of time about the unfairness of it all. She had named her father an evil tyrant and worse.

Balgruuf the Greater, Jarl of Whiterun gave a disgruntled sigh as he gazed out over the sea of masked faces that made up the people of his hold, lit up by so many torches that it looked like Whiterun was aflame. Some identities were unmistakable: The Companions as a whole, had dressed as wolves but Vilkas and Farkas Silver-Claw towered over the rest, which twin was which was a mystery, though their silver eyes glinted from behind their twin masks. Ulfberth War-Bear also towered over those around him, draped in bear pelts and an angry growling mask. It belied his gentle nature, which was apparent as he hovered over his blacksmith wife (they had flabbergasted the hold years past when they had claimed each other one Maras Morning).

Some present though, were from further afield in the Hold and some were visitors and tourists all together. Brigitta had been a silver traders daughter from The Reach… all those years ago. 

The group from Dragonsreach stopped beneath the budding branches of the Gildergreen and Balgruuf stepped up onto the closest bench. He turned to face the crowd of animal costumes and masks. Feathers and Fur. All of the faces beneath flushed with anticipation.

He raised his arms for silence...

“May the Feast of Dibella bring you beauty and pleasure in sweet companionship and may you wake on Maras Morning in the arms of your one true love.”

Balgruufs powerful voice echoed off the walls of the Wind District but was drowned out by the roar of cheers as tankards of Ale, Mead and Beer were raised. Goblets of Wine were filled and consumed in vast quantities and the merriment began for true.

One of the twins wasted no time in procuring himself a potential mate for the evening, hoisting a woman with rabbit ears up over his shoulder and striding off towards Jorrvaskr at pace. A swell of raucous laughter followed him.

Balgruuf huffed in amusement, arranging his mask over his face and looked around for a suitable celebratory beverage. His entourage had dispersed, merging with the teeming masses and on the steps of Jorrvaskr. He recognised Kodlak Whitemane among the revelers, clothed in wolf furs and armour and laughing with several of the older Whiterun residents who were there to drink and socialise, rather than win a paramour for Dibellas Feast. Irileth was among them. He procured a full tankard from a passing tray and sipped it cautiously (Mead... good) and carefully made his way over towards the veterans.

He moved slowly through the crowds, stopping to greet some, being stopped to be greeted by others. He saw people maneuvering themselves into positions to claim Dibellas prize from their chosen denizens. He smiled indulgently as Elrindir, Proprietor of the Drunken Huntsman, so obvious in his deer outfit with an arrow fletching protruding out from his bum cheek (an homage, no doubt), sidled up to Uthgerd… a woman easily a foot and a half taller than him and not even in costume but rather encased in a shell of steel…and tried to initiate a conversation. He chuckled to himself as Uthgerd, predictably, cuffed the erstwhile elf soundly in the side of the head and turned away with an eyeroll and a smirk . The cheerful atmosphere was contagious

Balgruuf turned back towards his target group, still smiling, and froze to the spot.

Talos preserve him… Who was that? 

'She' was standing between Vignar Gray-Mane and one of the younger female companions. 'She' was speaking excitedly, gesticulating wildly with her hands, not even noticing the appreciative leers she was receiving from those around her. 

That costume was… distracting... it looked painted on... it was almost obscene.

As previously stated; there were costumes aplenty and abound on this night and masks, to preserve the identity of those who partook of Dibellas delights. Feathers and fur... that was the tradition. Animals and the baser creatures of Tamriel, to better free the inhibitions of the souls who wore their skins. This woman though, had selected neither feathers nor fur, _She_ was 'painted' with scales... skimming every curve and dip of her sleek, tall frame... from toe to crown... gleaming black scales.

In truth, the only part of her actually uncovered was the lower portion of her face, the scales even hooded over her hair and she had a mask of sculpted Ebony covering the rest of her face. She was all rosy lips, wide eyes and slinking, shadow-encased curves. Balgruuf felt his throat go very dry as his glacial eyes skimmed up and down her form several times, stopping every now and then to linger on the way the torch light glinted off the scales encasing her breasts and the swell of her hips...

He really needed that mead now... He raised the tankard and drained it, looking around for another but keeping one eye on the snake woman before the doors of Jorrvaskr. She couldn't be one of the companions though... that costume didn't have anything to do with wolves. Balgruuf snagged another tankard and drained it, quickly taking another before the tray moved off. Maybe celebrating wouldn't be a bad idea, the traitorous thoughts crawling into his mind... Moontea was used more freely now, than in years previous and really, children could be endearing... he didn't have to marry the woman...

While he stood among the crowd of revelers, sipping his drink (ale this time), pondering and perusing the mystery woman, the other Silver-Claw twin approached her. He lay his large palm on the small of her back and leaned in close to her ear, murmuring something that made her smile. She turned her masked face up to his and nodded. The twin took her hand and drew her away from her conversation and they moved towards the archway leading down to the marketplace. Balgruuf cursed to himself as they passed under the arch and out of view.

Gods-Damn-It! Too slow, Old man.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

He had stayed for much longer than he had intended to. Though he had missed out on his opportunity with the snake lady, he still found enjoyment in the company of his friends, subjects and former comrades in arms. Conversation, bawdy jokes and ample booze kept him occupied and, as midnight came and went, he was well and truly blathered and very jolly indeed. The crowds had thinned as the night had progressed. Food and drink fueling the courage of many to approach their quarry and lead them to some secluded spot to be as festive as Dibella intended. The dancing in the marketplace was still in full swing by the sound of it and would most likely continue well into morning.

And it was to the marketplace that Bulgruuf the Greater found himself strolling, under the light of Secunda and a hundred torches and to the tune of the drum and lute.

Saadia had lost her mask and was undulating in a Redguard veil dance on the edge of the city well. A small crowd was clapping along to the music. Some couples had not quite made it to a 'secluded spot' and were unashamedly copulating in dark corners. Jon Battle-Born and Olfina Gray-Mane were one such couple. Balgruuf chuckled and then hummed to himself as he tripped down the final steps to the Plains District. He leaned heavily against Carlottas vegetable stall and watched the sparse crowd in bleary eyed amusement for a while... Until 'She' caught his eye yet again.

She was not with a twin... there was no twin in sight at all. She was alone. How could that be? How could _she_ not have been claimed? Was everyone blind?

Well, she wasn't alone, she had an ale barrel for company... She was sitting on the bottom step of The Bannered Mare watching Saadia gyrate, tapping her foot along with the music, leaning her elbow on the top of her barrel with a wispy smile upon her rosy lips.

Balgruuf straightened his frame and inelegantly pushed a few locks of hair from his mask aside. If he'd known she was still on offer, he might not have consumed quite so much liquor. He squared his shoulders and strode (He hoped he strode and didn't shamble like the drunkard he was) his way across the marketplace until he stood (swayed) in front of her. By the Divines, but that costume was diverting.

Her eyes drew their way slowly up his body until she was blinking owlishly up at him with eyes the colour of the olive groves near Cyrodiil... not green and not brown... Hazel.... Why were they so familiar?

"I saw the wolf claim you." Balgruuf announced baldly, not quite as smooth as he would normally be.

She unleashed a tinkling bell of laughter and leaned her forehead against her forearm.

"I _danced_ with Vilkas... he's my _friend_." She chortled to herself before looking back up at him, "He quickly became enchanted by a Vixen... He _did_ came back but then he became enchanted with a butterfly, and then he became enchanted with what I think was a duck... I'm not sure though." She pursed her lips in thought as she pondered the 'bird' costume that had drawn her friend from her side yet again and then shook her head to clear it. "Haven't seen him since, I assume he became enchanted with another, or became tired and sought his bed alone... or he may wish to become attached to the duck." She shrugged, "Your guess is as good as mine, I'm afraid."

"Are you not celebrating?" Balgruuf questioned, fearful that she still might be out of his reach.

"I wasn't against the idea but... I've had no takers thus far anyway."

"HOW !?!"

"How?" She tilted her head to the side and narrowed her eyes.

"How can you have no takers?... you're stunning." He slurred incredulously.

She grinned up at him and shrugged. "I dunno, maybe the men of Skyrim have no love for snakes."

"Then, the men of Skyrim are feeble-minded." He growled. He extended his hand out to her and gave a jolting kind of bow. "May _I_ claim your company this evening?"

"You're already in my company..." She chuckled, teasing him softly.

"This is not quite the companionship that Dibella intends." Balgruuf waved his hand vaguely between the two of them, indicating the vast space between their two bodies.

The woman bit down on her bottom lip and looked him over slowly, tilting her head from side to side as she took in his fur draped form and feline mask. She mapped out his firm biceps, wide chest, narrow hips and then a small shy smile graced her mouth. She reach up her hand and let him pull her to her feet. When standing, her eyes were at beard level on him so she lifted her face to meet his eyes.

"Are we taking to the shadows or does the noble lion have somewhere more comfortable in mind?" She asked archly.

He quickly scooped her up into his arms, stumbling slightly under the influence of mead (and ale) and began the trek for 'more comfortable'. He was the Jarl after all and it would not do to be seen rutting in an alleyway as much as he would want to. His companion giggled delightedly (and slightly drunkenly) and wrapped her slick, scaled arms around his neck, nuzzling into his tawny fur.

Balgruuf the Greater could only think of the most comfortable bed in all of Tamriel and that was his own at the top of the hill. It was a long trek. He was carrying a burden and he was not as young as he used to be but he finally shouldered his way into the main hall of Dragonsreach, once again stumbling a little and earning a cautious squeak from the lady nestled in his arms. He adjusted his grip and continued on.

He decided, as he fumbled his way into his suite in the upper reaches of the castle, that there were entirely too many damned stairs in Dragonsreach. So much so, that his companion was now snoozing with her head on his shoulder... Should he wake her?

He abruptly dropped her onto his bed. She woke suddenly with a squeak, a bounce and a cascade of giggles.

Balgruuf looked down at her as she chortled to herself, sat up unsteadily and shuffled back on the bed to recline on the down filled pillows. She quirked an eyebrow at him as he stood immobile above her, a crooked little smile hitched her lips and she extended one long leg out to him.

He shook himself into action and crawled across the mattress. He took hold of her shapely calf and eased her scaly boot off her little foot. He took a moment to press a soft kiss to the arch of her foot, to which she flinched back with a gasp and then chuckled. The same treatment was applied on the other booted foot. 

He looked up as she lay her foot down on the comforter, her bottom lip was caught in her teeth and her eyes sparkled with anticipation... and a hint of fear.

"Your first festival?" He asked, as he knelt between her open thighs and ran his large hands up her legs, over the shining black scales.

She nodded her head shortly and he smiled softly down at her. 

Inside he was smirking. He'd bet all that he owned, that she had only ever been with green boys, oft referred to as 'two pump chumps'. He'd give her something to remember and compare to for the rest of her life. Everyone after him would be found lacking. But first...

He crept forwards, leaning over her, but putting no weight on her seemingly slight body, until he was nose to nose with her. He paused, a breath away, staring deep into those hazel eyes and then he pressed his lips to hers

He _knew_ her lips would be sweet. He knew they would taste of snowberries and honey, they could taste of nothing else in his imagination. And they were so soft, like a sweep of gossamer against him... and they way they moved against his, undulating gently, hesitant but enthusiastic. She made a quiet humming sound as he ran his tongue over the seam of her lips and a louder sigh as she parted her sweetness to let him taste her more fully, running his tongue against hers and sipping more deeply at her flavour.

His fingers were aching to tangle in her hair but it was encased under the scaly black hood, he didn't even know what colour it was or if it was long or short. He wanted to run his knuckles over her high cheekbones but they were covered by the thin, sculpted ebony mask...

It was frustrating... but, if he could not touch her face... see her face, then he would touch and see what he was allowed to. He left her tempting mouth and headed south, trailing his lips over her chin and found himself stymied at the first hurdle.

Her thrice-damned costume was all encompassing, clinging to her skin tightly, directly under her chin. He ran his hands long the contours of her body, up and down her sides... tunneling his hands beneath her to the center of her back. How in Oblivion did this thing come off!? He growled and looked up at her with a disgruntled glare. Her sweet lips were quirked into a crooked little smile and a little giggle escaped her. She raised herself to rest against her elbows and lifted one eyebrow.

Cheeky Little Bint.

Alright then... That was how it was going to be, was it?

He grinned down at her as he dug his fingertips under her chin, between the costume and her elusive skin. He gathered up as much of the fabric as possible in his grasp and then roughly yanked it apart. The sound of the costume tearing under his hands was very satisfying, the sound of her surprised gasp even more so. It ripped right down the middle of her torso. The first tug, to her clavicle, which he dipped down to quickly kiss. The next to her navel, an expanse of luminous youthful skin was exposed to his covetous eye. The last tug opened the tear to the apex of her thighs.

Balgruuf sat back on his heels and stared down at her in wonder, his breath catching in his suddenly dry throat.

The scaly black fabric gaped and framed a slash of perfection. She wasn't wearing any small clothes... her skin was like the finest ivory, her tightly budded nipples were a dusky pink atop the soft swell of her breasts. He groaned longingly...the tuft of hair covering her quim was a deep crimson. A redhead. He needed to see all of it. Every hidden inch.

He all but leapt at her, peeling the offending costume from her body. She helped, moving and lifting limbs accordingly and aching her back to wriggle out of the figure hugging cloth. There was some more tearing but he eventually sat back once more, dangling the scrunched up outfit in his fist. Frozen as he once again looked down on her. Hood and mask still in place, but everything else bared to the Divines and to him.

Long defined limbs, pale skin stretched over hard muscle, yet a softness that rounded pleasingly in all of the right places. She was scarred, though they hardly detracted from her youthful beauty. Her body told him clearly that she was a warrior, battle forged for all that she was obviously young... maybe she was to join the companions, she was obviously familiar with them... she may soon be a permanent resident in his city...

He let his eyes wander, taking in all of her. Eventually he looked back up at her masked face. Her bottom lip was tucked under her teeth as she watched him explore her with his gaze. He wondered if she might think that he found her lacking in some way. He almost huffed in incredulity. As If!

It occurred to him that he was still fully clothed in his costume and that he may have seemed like a large predator about to pounce and devour some small prey. He was, but that was beside the point. He began to strip himself of his clothes, stumbling off the side of the bed to remove his boots. When he straightened and smoothed back the mane of his mask to look back at his companion, she was sitting up and staring at his crotch.

He was at full mast. He pretty much had been, on and off, since he had first spied her in the crowd. Now that he had her in his bed, the hot hard length of his cock pointed straight out, pointing at her, almost dragging him towards her with its want. It was an impressive tool, thick and long, curving slightly upwards. His late wife had only allowed it near her a handful of times complaining that it hurt her, but his other previous conquests had been happy enough with it. He supposed if she was used to green boys it might seem a little intimidating.

"Don't fret." He murmured gently, "You'll be ready for it and if it's too much, we can stop. Dibella has many tricks, not all of them need me to be inside of you."

Her wide hazel eyes raised to meet his calm blue ones and she nodded with a small, somewhat timid, smile. She reached out one hand to him.

He took her hand and let her lead him towards her, he was a little surprised when she bought his hand to her lips and drew his pointer finger into her mouth, suckling on it gently.

See now, that was hardly fair. How was he supposed to be slow and gentle when she pulled stunts like that?

With a low growl, he prowled up onto the bed and slunk over her. She lay back slowly as he leaned in and captured her lips again, this time with a little more ferocity than before and she responded in kind, her tongue venturing forth first and lapping at his mouth. Her hands crept up over his shoulders and threaded themselves into his hair while his began to roam. They made their way down her body, cupping and massaging one of her firm breasts, tugging gently on the pointed nipple and causing her to hum against his lips, aching her back and pressing more firmly into his hand. He abandoned her mouth in the next instant, dipping low and seizing her breast in his mouth, running his tongue around the rippling surface of the areola and sucking in the turgid point. She threw her head back into his pillows and moaned, gripping his hair and pulling him into her.

His free hand fiddled with the other lonely nipple for a moment, rolling it, manipulating it and making her whimper.

He continued on his journey along her lean body, running his tongue down the ripple of her abdominals, into the crevice of her navel, making her flinch and giggle, and further down still. He stopped and pulled back from her for a moment and gazed at the triangle of auburn hair at her sex. A Redhead. He smiled and breathed in the earthy scent of her arousal as his wide palms stroked her thighs apart so he could look at her.

She hesitated a second before allowing her legs to fall open, he moved and settled between her thighs looking up at her across the acres of pure pale skin, sheened with tiny beads of glinting perspiration. She was biting her lip again, though this time her pupils were blown wide, the hazel all but eclipsed in her dark arousal, and her breaths were fast and shallow. He gave her a quick grin before parting the folds of her quim with his fingertips and lowering his mouth to taste of her. She made an amusing sound. A cross between a squawk and a groan as his tongue snaked out and flicked over her clit, sliding against her already slick flesh. He dipped lower to press against her channel, sliding inside as far as he could go, pulling out and plunging in again.

She began to rock her hips against his face, her grip on his hair tight as he moved back up to suckle on her clit. Her grip tightened and she gasped when one of his thick fingers pressed into her, sliding into a tight, warm haven that had him humming in anticipation. He hoped she wouldn't stop him... Gods, he hoped.

He filled her with a second finger with the intention of sliding in as deep as he could and slightly scissoring her walls, spreading them wide so that he could fit in. He pressed in and stopped short.

What? WHAT?!?

His fingers encountered an obstacle that he had definitely not foreseen. Her hymen was intact. She was a virgin?

He drew back from her fast, sitting up slightly and staring up at her. Her face was to the ceiling, obscured by the mask, but her mouth was slack, lips parted and glistening and she was breathing hard. Her throat and chest were suffused with rosy colour. She was enjoying what he did to her...but...

Who in the name of all of the Divines celebrated Dibellas feast as an innocent? What if he'd taken her in the shadows of an alleyway, hard and frenzied against that wall... like he'd actually wanted to? He could have soured the whole experience for her... put her off sexual contact for an age.

"What's wrong?"

Her breathless voice drifted down to him. He had, of course, frozen in his tracks, not sure of how to proceed.

"Your untouched." His voice was slightly strained.

"Is that bad?" She asked, leaning up on her elbows and looking down at him still cradled between her thighs, fingers still inserted into her moist heat.

"Are you sure you want this to be your first? With a stranger?" He asked softly, trailing his free hand up and down her thigh. "It will hurt the first time..."

She snorted a little indelicately.

"It will hurt... that's fine, I expected as much." She gave a casual shrug. "and I know my first time will be with a man who is... skilled... in the Dibellan arts." A small smile graced her lips.

"So... you want to continue... with me?" Balgruuf felt his chest clench at her slight nod and his eyes followed the path of the tip of her tongue as it trailed over her bottom lip. "I'm honoured." He breathed, climbing up her body to kiss her fervently.

This was more than he had expected, he'd been smiled on by the Divines tonight. He pulled back from her and stared into her eyes, still dark and liquid with desire. He kissed her again and then set about making this the best night of her life.

He set about making love to her, touching her reverently, slowing down and making her body truly sing for him. His lips, tongue and teeth found every spot on her body that could make her shiver, whimper and plead and when he found himself once again at her core, lapping at her clit and easing his fingers inside, he prayed, not only to Dibella but all of the Nine to help him please her.

She tensed once, a cry tore from her throat as he drew her first orgasm from her. Her walls clamped down on his fingers with a death grip and the hot surge of her release soaked him. He groaned long and loud at the feel of it. She was ready for him and he couldn't wait. His cock was steel, it needed to be sheathed, it was becoming too painful to delay.

He withdrew from her carefully and she sighed at the loss but he crawled up her body, peppering kisses as he went until they were face to face. He lowered himself onto her, the thought that he fit perfectly between her thighs scuttled across his mind.

All thought abandoned him as he felt his cock head nudge at her wet heat, finding its proper place all on its own.

He gazed down at her... wishing again that he could tangle his fingers in her hair.

"Now?" She asked softly, her voice unsteady in the aftermath of her climax.

He bought his lips to hers, wormed his arms under her shoulders, wrapping his fingers over the top to brush over the hollow of her decolletage. "Now." He whispered back, lips closing over her mouth.

He sunk into her. Slowly but relentlessly filling her to the brim. His kiss swallowed her gasp as he tore through her hymen but didn't stop until he was fully seated, stretching her to her limit.

Then he held firm, reaching for every fibre of his inner strength to stay still in the tightest quim he'd ever had the joy of being inside. He needed to be still, he needed to let her adjust to the new feeling before he allowed himself the pleasure that he was due.

He release her lips, to hear her unleash a series of soft curses.

"Fuck fuck fuck..." 

"Tell me you're alright." He gasped, fighting for control. The need to thrust was becoming unbearable, and he moved restlessly against her.

"Fuck," She cried out. "Yes, Yes... Move."

"Thank the Gods." He breathed, pulling out of her and plunging back in.

He was rougher than he intended, he slammed back into her hot channel again and again, reveling in the squeeze as she enveloped him. Without urging, her legs wrapped around his hips and she canted her own to change the angle. As he thrust back into her, a whole new slew of curses erupted from her mouth. He didn't want to quiet them, they spurred him on but he also couldn't keep away from her tempting, kiss plumped lips. 

As their tongues tussled, and their bodies surged together, he held her close and she scratched ribbons into his back. It was bliss and rapture.

... And then her back began to arch. Her legs unwound from behind his back and she planted her heels into the mattress. He felt her quim tighten... tighten so much that he lost his rhythm. She threw her head back and wailed as her climax hit her. Her walls began to pulse and milk him and it was simply too much for an old man like him to take. His balls tightened abruptly and he exploded into her.

**Part 2: Maras Morning**

During the night, as she slept, her ebony mask had absconded and her hair had made a daring escape from the tight coil that had held it fast beneath her hood... when it had been in place. Her rich, fiery locks flowed over her sleep surface and glinted in the bright morning sunlight that glared in through the large glass windows.

Her head didn't hurt as much as it should have, considering people kept on passing her goblet after tankard after... barrel?... Did someone really pass her a barrel of ale?

Wait...LARGE GLASS WINDOWS???

Dragejenta Black-Swords hazel eyes flashed open in a moment and she sat up sharply, looking wildly around the lavishly appointed room that she now found herself in. Where was she?

She felt a gentle movement on the bed next to her; a light rustling of fine linens as her bed fellow shifted slightly in his sleep. He was on his side facing away from her, just a mass of sun-browned, muscular skin and golden hair in her peripheral vision.

Jenta grimaced. She had overslept. She did not mean to sleep at all. She should have left as soon as the deed had been done... But, it had been so warm and her body had turned liquid under his ministrations, it had been difficult to move or even think. The man had indeed been gifted in the Dibellan arts, making her first time well worth the wait.

But, she absolutely could not be found in his bed on Maras Morning... She _did not_ need that kind of complication in her life. She dared not look at him properly either. His identity didn't matter.

She slid as slowly as possible to the edge of the large bed and pulled back the covers, trying to be discrete as she made her escape, silently begging that he didn't wake and catch her. She stood up and held in a gasp. She was a little sore. While he had done the initial damage the first time, he had been unerringly gentle and thoughtful of her needs. The second time had been a little more vigorous.... and the third.

Jenta clenched her aching muscles, inner and outer, and winced. She couldn't cast a healing spell, it would repair her hymen and that seemed slightly counter-productive... _'Oh well, deal with it. You've felt much worse.'_ She almost snorted at her own thought. She certainly had felt worse.

She scanned the room for her costume and rolled her eyes when she saw it... in several pieces, in several locations. Now she recalled that he had torn it from her body. Bollocks!

Now what? She couldn't dash through Whiterun in full morning light in naught but her skin.

She spied her companions wardrobe and tiptoed over to it. It opened with a slight creak which made her wince but inside she found a neatly folded tunic that was long enough to serve as a short shift on her. Enough to get her home without a barrage of wolf whistles at least. She pulled it over her head and settled it in place and looked around for her boots. One peeped out from under the bed and the other was over by what used to be the left leg of her costume. She claimed them and tugged them on, picking up the remnants of her snake attire as she moved quietly around the room.

She winced yet again. Her mask was under the bed fellows hip, she could see it. Her hood was clasped in his hand. She huffed, blowing a tendril of hair out of her face... She crept back over to the large bed, careful to stay on the side she'd slept on so his back was still to her. She crawled up onto the mattress and gently tugged the ebony mask out from under him and then she reached over... Keeping her eyes on her hood, not on the man... on the hood.

Balgruuf the Greaters eyes widened, almost comically, as he looked up at her. The realisation of just whom he had bedded hitting him like an avalanche.

"Dra... Dragonborn?" He whispered, haltingly.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

“It was one of the twins… not entirely sure which... I think Farkas. No, no, I’m sure it was Farkas.” Lydia nearly slid down the steep stairs in her haste to impart the details of her conquest. “He’s a big lad. Lost my ears before we even made it to his bed. What a display! I guess you missed it, being late and all.” She giggled. “Farkas has a bar in his room… and a single bed… it was a bit snug but we got drunk on Blackbriar Reserve in there. We didn’t talk though…not supposed to, were we? Haha... I might try for Vilkas at the next feassss… Are you alright?”

Lydias excited narrative stalled as she took in the dejected look on Jentas face. She stepped closer to the Dragonborn, who slumped miserably in the armchair in front of the fire pit

“It was Balgruuf.” The Dragonborn whispered. “I woke in his bed... This morning”

Lydias eyebrows rose exponentially and an excited smile began to spread across her pretty face.

"Oh Jenta," Lydia gushed, "Congratu..."

“I ran” Jenta breathed out raggedly.

Lydia gaped.

“You… You ran?...” Lydia squawked incredulously as soon as she regained the power of speech, her smile melting away in an instant and it was swiftly replaced by a look of abject horror. “On Mara’s Morning!?… You Ran?”

“I ran like Alduin was after me all over again…I’ve never run that fast in my whole life.”

"Oh Gods...Jenta... the offense..." Lydia breathed in shock, "How must he be feeling...?"

"I know!" Jenta cried, letting her head fall into her hands.

“… and… and _why_ did you run?” Lydia was at a loss. How could she have?

The Dragonborns head was still resting in her hands and she didn’t answer. Lydia lowered herself hesitantly into the chair next to her, her own revelry forgotten in the light of this stunning revelation.

“He _is_ old enough to be your father.” Lydia pointed out absently.

“You’re old enough to be my father.” Jenta muttered petulantly and glared over at her housecarl. Lydia couldn't help but chuckle and the Dragonborn huffed. “I don’t care about his age… But… He's... He’s the JARL… a widower, he has three children… one is a bastard…” She faltered and for the first time since Lydia had met the young woman, the woman who had recently taken on the World-Eater and prevailed, she looked very vulnerable and lost. “I… I was a virgin.”

Lydia gasped. Dragejenta Black-Sword... _The Dragonborn_... had given herself away at Dibellas Feast? Awoke in the arms of her lover on _Maras Morning?_ By the Nine!

And... And then she had _rejected_ Maras gift?!... Rejected HIM!

“So… What are you going to do?” Lydia croaked.

The Dragonborn blew out a noisy exhale and stared deeply into the fire pit as if the flames would give her the answer to her predicament. She had fucked up.

Royally!

What to do?

She shook her head. There were only two real options before her: She could leave... Flee the city. Hells, Flee Skyrim! She could never look on his handsome, weathered face ever again after the deep insult she had just dealt him. 

_'The look on his face! Talos, what did I do?'_ She cried out in her head.

She shook her head again, gazing into the flames in the fire pit, deep in thought. Lydia held her breath as she watched her Thane struggle.

Then there was option two...

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

The Main hall of Dragonsreach was subdued. No doubt by the aftermath of the free-flowing libations from the feast, the night before. Hrongars head was hanging dangerously low over his plate, like any minute it would drop and he would drown, face down, in his porridge. Farengar and Proventus were conspicuously absent and even the stoic Irileth looked a little rough around the edges from her post on the dais.

The Jarl, however, looked to be wide awake, sitting straight backed on his throne rather than reclining carelessly in his usual manner.

Jenta took a deep ragged breath, adjusted her dress and walked resolutely up the stairs and around the fire pit. She had dressed with care. She did actually own fine raiments, she just favoured her armour. She had picked the dresses colour because it matched her eyes and Lydia had assured her it looked quite fine. She had left her hair free and flowing in a lava stream about her shoulders and down her back.

She stopped at the foot of the dais and looked up at Irileth, imploring the housecarls permission to approach the obviously disgruntled Jarl.

Irileths brow furrowed at the gesture. Since when did the Dragonborn seek permission? On her very first visit to Dragonsreach, she had sidestepped the housecarl and bore down on the Jarl with a complete disregard to protocol and plain old good manners. And she was wearing a dress. A plain olive coloured dress over a cream coloured shift. Since when did the Dragonborn wear anything other than her customary black enchanted armour?

Irileth inclined her head in assent none-the-less and the Dragonborn mounted the steps cautiously, coming to a stop right in front of Jarl Balgruuf. She bowed.

Irileth frowned harder… The Dragonborn bowed?!?

“Good morning, My Jarl,” Jenta began, her voice steady and clear but her face wary. “I understand that you may be... busy, what with the clean up after last nights festivities and all, but I was wondering if I could impose on you for a private audience.”

The Jarls face was as stone and he didn't respond right away, he just regarded the Dragonborn in silence.

Irileth looked between her Jarl and the Dragonborn... What was going on here then?

The Dragonborn shifted on her feet, her eyes lowered to the floor. "Just a few moments of your time is all I require, my Jarl." She pressed softly.

Balgruufs cool blue eyes narrowed but he eventually nodded shortly and took to his feet. He beckoned her to follow and strode ahead, his back rigid. He led the way up the stairs to his war room and turned on her so abruptly that Jenta nearly ploughed right into his chest. She managed to pull up short and looked up at him. He was looking down at her impassively, though, there was a tell-tale tick in his jaw that gave away his displeasure.

She cast her eyes about the room and turned her face back to him, her own hazel gaze hardening.

"Do you really want to hear what I have to say in front of Dragonreachs' guards?" She questioned, with a raised eyebrow. "You know they gossip like a bunch of old women in a sewing circle."

His eyes didn't leave her, though they could both hear the guards shuffling awkwardly at her words, trying to make themselves as inconspicuous as possible.

He drew in a deep breath, his chest swelling outwards as though he were about to unleash a hurtful tirade but he let it out again in a rush as he considered that, his eyes darting to the guards. He looked back at her with a slightly softened expression and nodded. He turned from her again and walked instead towards the great doors leading into his household wing. He led her through the living quarters, up the stairs and into his personal chambers. He dismissed the guards with a look and as they marched out, he shut the doors behind them, leaving the Jarl and the Dragonborn all alone.

He didn't not turn immediately, instead he stood with his head slightly bent, his fingers lingering on the door handles. Perhaps he was gathering himself to face a storm... The silence stretched.

His shoulders rose as he drew in a fortifying breath.

When he finally did turn towards her, he was forced to stumble backwards, his broad back slamming back into the door, under the sudden unanticipated attack.

The Dragonborn had flown at him, crushing her lips to his and pressing her lean body against him. To his credit, Balgruuf was only stunned for a heartbeat before his hands snaked their way around her slim waist and pulled her even harder into him and his mouth responded hungrily to the frantic movement of her lips and the insistence of her tongue.

It also didn't take long for the Nord man to seek the dominant hand in the whole episode. His grip shifted from Jentas waist and down to her bottom, lifting her off the floor, taking several strides forwards and depositing her onto the top of the family dining table which dominated the center of the first chamber.

The Dragonborn took the opportunity to wrap her long legs around the Jarl, capturing and keeping him as close as can be.

Balgruuf the Greater was trying very hard to reconcile the current events in which he found himself embroiled, in comparison to those earlier in the morning when he had awoken to see the flaming-haired Goddess hovering above him. The look of alarm that lighted her eyes as she looked down upon his uncovered face and the way she had turned tail and run from his chamber in what had seemed like dread... Horror even.

He had blanched at the implications of that. It had soured everything that had gone before, making him regret, yet again, attending the cursed Feast of Dibella. He had thought her repulsed by what had passed between them during the night... a night he had felt a great deal of masculine pride over, considering his age, his alcohol consumption and the time of night that their rendezvous began. He could almost taste her regret and disgust as she fled him, denying what Mara had offered.

She didn't seem too disgusted now though, with her fingers tangling in his hair, his braids clamped in her fist and her nimble tongue tussling with his.

He hitched up the skirt of her dress and pulled her by her hips to the edge of the table, grinding them against his and he felt his pulse leap as he heard her appreciative groan in answer to the action. 

Their lips were fused and he didn't want to let her move away from him in case she didn't return, but she pulled back, pressing her palms firmly against his shoulders and fixed her hazel eyes on his.

"I'm sorry." She whispered. 

He ducked forwards and silenced her with a somewhat desperate kiss. He didn't want to hear her reject Maras gift verbally, she had already made it perfectly clear with the swiftness of her feet. For all that she seemed happy to receive his physical attentions, it looked like a trip to the temple in Riften was on the cards, to remove their names from Maras Book. It was a painful slight, but not an unreasonable one... he was quite a bit older than she was... and no one but the two of them knew of her rejection. None but he and she... and Mara.

He had seen her in the full light of Maras Morning... in his bed. That was meant to be it. They were married.

But he would let her be. She was the Dragonborn after all.

Whose stupid idea was it to have Maras Morning follow a night of debauchery anyway!?!

As he was inwardly mourning his loss, the beautiful young woman in his arms had tugged his belt free and loosened the laces on his breeches. She had broken the kiss and was intent in fighting with a rather irritating knot of her own making. She glanced up at his face and stopped yanking at the laces.

"My Jarl?" She tilted her head and frowned, biting on her lip, lowering her pretty eyes and removing her fingertips from the laces of his breeches. "Don't you want be married to me now?" 

Whoa there! What?

"I know what I did was unforgivable but...." She shook her head, staring at the fingers as they now tangled together in her lap and she sighed resignedly. "I can go to Riften, take our names out of the Book..."

What the deuce was she on about? 

"Wait, wait... Dragejenta." He put a finger under her chin and lifted her face to meet his eye. "Are _you_ saying you are _honouring_ Maras Morning and that you mean to stay married to me?"

She let her tongue moisten her lips and nodded. "That was the plan... but if you don't..."

He kissed her. He kissed her hard, his teeth clashing with hers. His hand went to the back of her head, fingers tangling in her long fiery hair. The other hand groped for and found a knife on the table top, discarded from breakfast. She buggered his laces anyway... he had other pants.

He sliced though the knotted laces and let the cutlery fall where it may, though it did so with a clatter that they did not hear. 

They fought over who would lower his breeches, frantic hands becoming hopelessly entwined. He conceded and reached instead for the gusset of her small clothes, breathtakingly moistened by her renewed arousal. He growled against her lips, not wanting to wait to consummate his brand new and unexpected union, neither did she it seemed. 

Her hand withdrew his hard cock from inside his breeches and urged him towards her. He pushed aside her underwear and lined himself up with what he knew to be the most heavenly quim in all of Mundus.

As he plunged into her tight heat their eyes met. Both breathless, both flushed unspoken passion and both without a mask to hide behind.

**Author's Note:**

> Lion vs Snake motif might have been knicked from Harry Potter.  
> Moontea may have been knicked from ASOIAF.  
> Jentas costume could have been inspired by Catwomans in Batman Returns (but with scales)  
> I Regret Nothing!... except my shit writing.


End file.
